


my dear lost one

by orphan_account



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/M, So do they, bit ooc? but they deserve a good time, i miss shirazu :(, this is both me venting my upset and also trying to get back into writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 18:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15200741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: you can see the weird split in perspective towards the end as urie sharing his limelight hahathe original idea was supposed to be for something longer that i'm still working on that makes more sense, but sometimes you stress write at 3am. ty for reading !





	my dear lost one

shuffling footsteps in the corridor, uneven. the rustling of clothes outside the door, then silence. urie pretends not to notice and turns his music up, like it’ll make them go away faster. someone knocks once, hesitant, then thrice more, with deliberation. he doesn’t make to move, but instead decides to wait it out.  _leave me alone_ , urie thinks, dipping a brush into murky water.   
  
the canvas before him is decorated with lilacs and complementary creams, a peaceful scene comprised of wildflowers backed onto a dusky summer sunset. he fills his free time, as little of it as there may be, with perfecting the piece. a long work in progress, but something to focus on in the sombre hours of the night that otherwise threaten to swallow him whole. where darkness tries to consume, urie sketches a contrasting scene, a hopeful future or something equally as mundane to cling onto. it keeps him sane or so he believes, but it’s just as much an obsession as his strict training regimen.   
  
there’s another knock at the door, followed by a few words uttered so softly he almost missed them over the heavy bass blasting from his headphones. his senses are far too keen and for once he regrets them.   
  
“urie? are you awake?”  
  
_stupid question_ , he retorts, though he sets the palette and brush aside to open the door anyway,  _you know i am._    
  
on the other side is yonebayashi, who looks bedraggled and exhausted in the low light from the window. she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, rubs her arms with a sigh and stares at him almost dejectedly.  _one of those nights?_  something in his chest tightens and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her to leave. he silences the music with a click and folds his arms, an expectant look resting on his features.  
  
“can’t sleep again?” urie says after a beat when he tugs his mask under his chin, the response is much more pointed than he intended. yonebayashi doesn’t shy away. this sort of thing happens more frequently as the days pass by, like a little secret between friends that they’re much too scared to spill in fear of the looming darkness that keeps it. they find themselves reaching out to each other in the dark like this, desperate for the warmth that’s been lacking ever since shirazu died and sasaki resigned as their mentor. shirazu, as foolhardy and boisterous as he was, carried an everlasting glow with him wherever he went and whatever he might have lacked in strength, he made up for in spirit. sasaki was... he doesn’t finish the thought. he doesn’t deserve it. yonebayashi hums in response and walks past him to the window when urie steps aside, silently granting her permission to stay. her movements are heavy, exhaustion threaded through her veins and spilling out as she sighs again when she sits down, backed up against the cool glass.   
  
“what were you doing?” she asks, an innocent curiosity in her tone that’s so refreshing to hear in comparison to the deep-rooted hatred and constant lies of the other investigators he has to deal with every day. “painting,” urie replies simply, though not as harshly as before, and resumes his position by the easel. he doesn’t pull the mask back up but takes it off instead and sets it aside with the headphones; an invitation. her attention shifts to the canvas, which she regards with an appreciative eye. “looks pretty,” yonebayashi mumbles, though she sounds almost insincere for the lack of energy behind her tone.   
  
to anyone else, it might have appeared that their relationship hadn’t much improved over the distant months, but they knew otherwise, even if it did often go unsaid. urie is still a horrible conversation partner, reserved being one of the kinder descriptors of his character, and yonebayashi is exceptionally languid in her mannerisms. one such testament to their relationship is how comfortably they settle into this little routine, when before neither would leave their respective rooms or even think to approach the other’s, least of all for companionship. their experiences pull them together now, things only their immature eyes have seen that nobody else could ever hope to understand. _rot and gore cling to sasaki’s breath like a noxious cloud, he doesn’t even see urie but looks straight past him as he speaks:_   _your fault, your fault, your fault._ the feeling of blood, _someone else’s_ , is slick between the fabric of his gloves and his bare skin in the present. he bites back a grimace and rips the offending accessories off altogether, knuckles white from the iron grip he holds on them, but it’s an improvement over the blackish-red he thinks should be there. it’s something he can’t rationalise, the blood hadn’t even touched his hands back then, and he wonders if it’s meant to be some kind of sign. yonebayashi barely reacts to the scene, a small kindness to save his pride, but her eyes never leave him, instead she watches with her brows knit and a look of understanding. in a way, it’s so much worse.  
  
the silence that follows isn’t unwelcome, they’re more than accustomed to spending time this way, but something burns within yonebayashi tonight, a feeling that spreads like wildfire behind her eyes and smoulders in the lights from the world beyond the chateau. whatever happened to disturb her from her sleep still lingers and urie can’t push past the thought to carry on working, though maybe it’s just as much a distraction from his own misery as it is for her sake. his steps are cautious as he moves to sit beside her at the window and he waits for a refusal, though yonebayashi doesn’t give any indication for him to stop. she leans into him when he sits beside her, deflated, that restlessness so firmly set in her skin that even in the near blackness he can see it — no, he feels it, urie knows it all too well himself. she breathes in, he clears his throat.   
  
“are you—“  
  
“urie, i’m—“  
  
it’s quiet again for a moment after that. yonebayashi’s laugh into the sleeve of her nightgown is almost delirious. urie straightens his posture to accommodate her better. they feel so much older than their tender years, their experiences have moulded them harshly and packed them off to be sent into a world in which they barely belong. carrying the burdens of an investigator is one of the growing list of things they now share, along with these precious moment of respite and friendship. it’s something he never expected to think of so easily, yonebayashi shrugs her shoulders and gestures for him to continue, likely knowing that urie won’t speak again anytime soon otherwise.   
  
the first thoughts that come back into urie’s head suddenly feel lame and idiotic — cliché little things like  _are you okay?_  and  _it’ll be alright_  — so he readjusts again on the floor and makes a motion to his lap, while he thinks of something better to say. “you look tired,” is what he eventually comes up with and he thinks maybe it would have been better to have kept his mouth shut when yonebayashi shoots him a frustrated look. she shoves him gently and tuts, an obvious rebuttal of  _so do you_  written on the lazy smirk that pulls at her lips briefly. she makes a show of collapsing into his lap, though something tells him her reaction isn’t all theatrics.   
  
yonebayashi hadn’t wanted this, not like he had, she holds a special kind of love for other people in her heart and it is easily one of her greatest strengths, as well as one of her most burdensome weaknesses. everyone knows her story, how she was signed up and off for the money, but it was something she was loathe to discuss so freely. it makes sense, none of the quinx speak easily about their pasts, they were a pretty collection of misfits and what-ifs. despite himself and his usual brand of apathy, urie wants to learn more; to understand what makes her the way she is. yonebayashi smiles when she’s sad, uses humour to plaster over the cracks of her feelings and it’s something he can’t begin to fathom. more than ever, it reminds him of shirazu and that twists something horrid in his gut.   
  
“what’s wrong?” even if he can’t understand, the very least urie figures he can do is try. false niceties help neither of them and the sympathy is about as kind as the hand that pushed yonebayashi here in the first place. urie struggles with words, he fails to address the evils in front of him, but he is a good listener. sometimes that’s enough. “saiko saw him again,” she murmurs, drawing shapes on the back of her hand to distract herself from the severity of her fears. he stares at her with his usual blank expression and simply nods in response. “shiragin. i could only see his back, but i know it was him. he felt so... sad and lonely. i tried calling out to him, but he wouldn’t listen. why wouldn’t he listen? what happens to people like us, urie? saiko doesn’t— “ a rising urgency in her voice causes her to sit up, to twist her body round and grip onto urie’s hands with such fervour that it almost frightens him. shirazu’s shaking voice grips him by the throat, when he tries to speak out he finds his voice numbed to absolute silence and suddenly he feels hauntingly empty.  _this place… it’s so quiet. i’m scared, i’m scared, i’m scared. he reaches out, but shirazu doesn’t move against him. shirazu calls out through the sobs that rack his body, for urie, for sasaki, for yonebayashi, completely unaware. nothing seems to reach him. a whimper, one last cry for help. his hands tremble, the tears that flood his eyes and stream down his skin are like molten lava, unbidden and uncontrollable. he didn’t even get to_ — urie shakes the memory off and looks to yonebayashi again, her eyes have adopted the same pleading, desperate look, searching him for any kind of answer to heal her troubled mind. “i don’t want anyone else to die.” it’s such an honest, raw confession, stark white against the inky darkness that envelops them. she mouths the words again, hands flat against the spanse of his chest. he doesn’t have some smartass solution like he usually does or any half-baked words of comfort like sasaki could offer, mutsuki’s gentle touch or even shirazu’s infectious, cheerful disposition; he’s just urie, equally as frightened of the past and so unbearably fucking lonely.  _i know_ , he wants to say,  _me neither._

in place of words, urie cautiously wraps his arms around her and squeezes when she relaxes into him, while rubbing circles on her back to soothe the tears that burn through his shirt and straight down to his core. she mumbles something through her sobs, it isn’t clear what, and lowers her head to rest in the crook of urie’s neck. barely even adults and they already know the hardships and trials of an everlasting war, every day they step further into the murky waters that mar the line between black and white; light and dark. that fogginess, the unthinkable grey, blurs their vision and twists the truths they know and will surely learn in the future as they continue to wade through the unknown. nobody is looking out for them anymore, the mantle of mentor was dropped on urie’s shoulders when sasaki departed and he tries to carry it with pride, determined to outshine his betters, but the weight of guiding the others alone hangs heavy in the air around him.  
  
“do you miss him, urie?” yonebayashi draws her sleeves up to paw at her cheeks and then pats down urie’s shirt, smoothing out the evidence of their embrace. a vain effort, telltale marks of mascara and some sort of silver glittery powder already leave obvious tracks between his shoulder and up to his collar. urie reaches out to pet her loose hair, letting his fingers coil around the soft blue locks as he thinks of how to answer.  _more than you know_ , he sighs and pushes the thought aside. the touch is gentle and inviting, she leans in close enough that their foreheads are just shy of touching. “i don’t miss his cooking,” he says lamely, though neither of them can really argue that. shirazu had absolutely no business fixing them any sort of meal; he was the type to burn water just by looking at it somehow. “but yeah. i miss him.” her answering smile is so delicate and sad, she fights the building urge to cry again by leaning into the crook of his neck and focusing on every minute detail her eyes can see. he presses his lips to her crown, a familiar action, and closes his eyes, it’s the closest he’s felt to anyone in a long time and he’s so scared to let go. the scent of rot and blood fleetingly tangles in with her fragrant shampoo when he almost falls into the moment. he swallows hard and shuts his eyes tighter. “i miss him so much,” she whispers softly.  _i’m here for you,_ urie thinks, embarrassingly desperate. he wishes he had the courage to say it aloud.

  
the flames behind her eyes dull to softer embers, remnants of the chaos, when their gazes next meet. she wipes at her eyes, her nose and settles back against the window again. tokyo seems a whole world away from their reclusive home and it feels like a mocking reflection of how they have to live their lives. there, but not quite. human, though only just. they constantly live with the fear of framing out, pushing themselves just a little too hard and losing the last things that tie them to their wavering humanity. urie remembers how desperate shirazu had been in his last moments, how their words had failed to reach his ears before he left them behind to mourn. as if feeling the shift in his mood, yonebayashi rests her palm on top of his and gives it a comforting squeeze. he allows their fingers to slowly entwine with one another’s as their breathing evens out to the steady rhythm of passing nightlife. maybe they can’t hope to fix everything overnight, maybe they won’t ever be able to, but urie thinks that bridging the gap between them one sleepless night at a time is a reasonable start.   
  
eventually, urie returns to the easel with newfound vigour and carefully moves the busy canvas to one side to be replaced with a blank slate. a fresh start, white. an obsession, his gloves, the view from the window, black. his hands leave the scenic piece feeling cleaner, more free. leaving something unfinished takes a great deal of courage, but he finds strength in sharing the unspoken moment with someone he cares for. two beaten down halves of a whole, a comfortable grey.   
  
“i was thinking of doing some portraiture work,” urie says just loud enough to catch yonebayashi’s attention, a kind of fleeting embarrassment briefly squashing his features. yonebayashi raises her head and stares inquisitively for a few moments, before moving over to the stool resting a little way off from where he’s standing. it isn’t much and it won’t bring him back, won’t fill the void in their hearts or the hole in the ground where he should be laid to rest, but it’s something. urie hopes it makes her smile like she used to, if nothing else. “think shirazu would mind me using his likeness?” it takes a moment, but her reaction is everything he wished for and more, yonebayashi rises to throw her arms around him, just as he had done, although she falls much shorter and barely reaches above his middle before having to shift to her tiptoes. urie’s expression softens as he smiles, hands resting gently over the ones digging into his waist. “make him super muscly?” she jokes through the new tears welling in her eyes, happier ones this time or so he assumes, letting her hands fall only when urie tries to turn around.  _that’s not what i had in mind_ , he thinks and sighs with another small smile,  _it’s only a bust portrait_. “sure, whatever.” yonebayashi laughs something sweet and falls back onto the stool, watching urie get to work on some little sketches in a book he pulled up from the side of the easel with an eager eye.  
  
he shows her a few rough outlines — toned body and all — and each time she takes the pencil from him and adds an impossible amount of muscle definition with a satisfied grin. it’s undeniably inane, shirazu’s rippling, perfectly sculpted abdomen looks just as ridiculous as it feels to even be sketching it at all, but it’s such a simple comfort. urie wonders how much of an earful they’d get if he were to see it too and finds himself almost laughing at the thought.   
  
they spend the rest of the night like this: swapping ideas and laughing — yonebayashi laughs, urie exhales through his nose at the sheer absurdity of if all — as quietly as they can manage, and by the time the morning sun lights the room well enough for them to truly see the monstrous pieces they’ve created together they’ve come to a conclusive sketch. the nuances of the lineart are urie’s doing and the overwhelming aura of the drawing in its entirety screams of yonebayashi’s wild spirit.   
  
they’re sat crosslegged at the foot of his bed when voices start to stir beyond the bedroom door, pulling them back down to earth. there’s a knock at the door and urie pushes the torn out papers aside to answer it. hsiao greets him as she always does, firm and respectful, though she regards him with curiosity when she sees yonebayashi giving her a sleepy wave from the bed. she notices the marks on his collar next, but lets her lingering gaze do all the talking. her posture relaxes, and a gentle smile graces her lips when she waves back, before she returns her focus to urie. “i have something to discuss with you, squad leader,” hsiao says with a confident lilt in her tone, “but i’ll come back later.”   
  
yonebayashi stretches her legs over the edge of the bed and laughs breezily as hsiao closes the door quickly, decisively ignoring the glances urie gives her as he starts to pick up the mess they made. “squad leader, saiko requests a day off to recover!” she hums with her usual enthusiasm, nudging his back with her feet as he stacks the paper neatly. “denied,” he says immediately and swats her over the head with the collected drawings. “want breakfast?” that seems to interest her enough to get up and all but rip the door open, where she makes a large gesture of bowing as he walks past her into the hallway, apparently having forgotten all about her sleepless night (or maybe it’s because of it, they both know they’ll be dragging their heels by the early evening.)  
  
they meander over to the kitchen to join the few others who are already awake and going about their business. urie catches yonebayashi’s kind gaze when he turns to set two mugs on the counter for coffee and returns the little smile she gives him. she mouths a  _thank you_  and they stay like this until the peaceful moment is broken when hsiao takes a seat beside her at the island and they start laughing about something he isn’t desperate to know, but the warmth lingers on his cheeks and it’s perfect enough for him; their own brand of normal.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can see the weird split in perspective towards the end as urie sharing his limelight haha 
> 
> the original idea was supposed to be for something longer that i'm still working on that makes more sense, but sometimes you stress write at 3am. ty for reading !


End file.
